


Paranoia

by LovelyLIBRAry



Series: Predator and Prey [1]
Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Sex, Bound, Breeding, Choking, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLIBRAry/pseuds/LovelyLIBRAry
Summary: "...He knows not to fight, but he just can’t help how his hands close into fists, tugging again as his body tries to arch away from the touch..."
Relationships: Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us), Green/Impostor (Among Us)
Series: Predator and Prey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059560
Comments: 28
Kudos: 649





	Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

> Okay hear me out: I’m writing this in a semi-tired daze but this idea has been the only thing stuck in my head for a few days now. I barely know the game, but goddamit I want content and I’m here to provide.

Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Green’s been stuck in this craft for what feels like eternity, paranoia creeping in and choking him like the infinite universe of cosmos and stars-- studying him from the other side of the glass. He fears their greatness, how indifferent his death would be floating in their mass—impersonal, suffocating. Feeling his breaths stutter on nothing, cold creeping in to blanket him like the truth he’d realize too late, eyes bulging from the pressure, visor reflecting a humanoid monster with sharp, bloody teeth in a wicked grin.

He sees these visions in his nightmares. Or maybe his memories? They’re so vivid, so visceral, he’s scared one day he’ll wake up bloody, missing his guts or holding someone else’s. He’s scared to sleep, so he doesn’t until his body forces him to. And when he feels himself slipping, he distracts himself with tasks, shocking himself with wires and wondering why it takes him longer to swipe a card than clear asteroids. 

Day in and out, his routine repeats. When he eats, he does so alone. Even while the others take their helmets off and talk freely amongst one another, Green would rather observe them from his spot in the corner. They communicate through speakers and receivers in their suits, and so he isn’t really able to hear them when they do talk aloud, going off Yellow’s bright smiles or Orange’s self-satisfied smirks to gauge the room.

He knows it makes him look suspicious, sitting to himself all quiet, distant and removed. In turn though, he’s become known as the voice of reason, the one to ground everyone when tensions run high, voices even higher. So long as another body doesn’t turn up, he’s fine keeping up the charade. The truth is, he’s probably the most scared of them all. 

  
He sits alone now, ears ringing in the quiet, disturbed every so often by his static breaths. He’s switched his equipment so that he isn’t breathing from his personal oxygen tank, instead the supply within the ship. For some reason, he’s always felt lighter doing this. Like he’s breathing the same air as the crew, sharing life and the burden of constant fear. But then he shifts in his suit, feeling it weigh heavy on his arms as he pushes himself to rise from the table, footsteps heavy as he walks around, and distracts himself yet again.   
  


When he isn’t busy fearing the galaxy he feels they’re lost in, Green likes to watch the stars pass, sometimes through the thick glass of the shuttle, other times through the cameras. There was no judgement here, no pressure to socialize to make himself seem less suspicious than he suspected he seemed. He could observe freely without meeting Purple’s squinted gaze, Red’s nervous eyes. Sometimes he felt like he might as well be the imposter with how often they looked at him sideways. _If_ there even was one.   
  


And as much as Green would like to convince himself as much, reality is Brown turned up dead not even a few days into their launch. He’d been the one to report the body, monotonously recalling finding it in the cafeteria. His mind was numb as everyone threw questions his way, pointing fingers at one another when his gaze kept drifting back to the corpse sitting not even a few feet from them.

It was too perfect. Almost like it was staged. From the few days Green had known them, Brown was like him, in that they seamlessly blended into their environment, speaking only when spoken to. They’d never been one for bold remarks like Red often was, but now red was all he could see, splattered crimson painting the white tile in a wide spray. Like they were shot. Or shot _through_.   
  


And, _god_ , the mess. Body mangled and split, Green wondered how they even held the meeting when the reflection of Brown’s intestines and bones bounced off each of their faces. There was so much blood. So much animosity. Whoever, or _whatever_ , had killed Brown that day, simply couldn’t be human.   
  


But it had the intelligence of one, it seemed. Why else would they choose to slaughter their comrade in the cafeteria, _s_ _o close_ to the button for their meetings, if not to remind them they weren’t safe. That even so close to the safety of others, a monster slithered in their circle. And if you peeked between your fingers or blinked at the wrong time, it would claim you too.

And so Green kept his eyes wide, mouth shut. He completed his tasks diligently and always, always kept his back to the walls. Never allowed himself or anyone to get too close. Tried not to stare too hard into the vents, lest he see glowing red eyes again, haunting his dreams. 

He continued living like this until he couldn’t, because then there was darkness. Green was always used to the comfort of seeing, watching and observing when he could, always planning his next step. And then his existence narrowed to the few steps around him he could make out, ears straining to hear over his loud breaths as he stood still, waiting.   
  


He was in a hallway, definitely not safe but too scared to move in case he tripped over another corpse, or into a knife. He held his breath, listened as the tech around him chimed softly, fluorescent blue light barely lighting his field of vision. A few beats pass, and he finally lets himself exhale. His body slumps with his lungs, equipment suddenly heavier even with the small relief. As his helmet fogs up with the breath, Green fails to notice the creaking metal behind him, a dark mass of tendrils slipping from a small vent.   
  
Only when it loudly snaps back into place that he rises, sharply standing up, shoulders tensing as dread spills into his core. Through the receiver, he can hear the rhythmic breaths of another in the space around him. They’re deep, slow, but he swears he can hear a growl underlying each one. A predator ready to hunt. Excited.   
  


He knows he’s the prey, knows he has to turn and make a defiant stance or attempt at escape. He knows, and his ears are ringing, his breaths are getting shorter, sharper, fingers curling in his suit's thick gloves. And yet. And yet, his feet stay rooted to the ground. Even beneath layers of nylon and polymer, he’s never felt so exposed in his life; the gaze on his back is so intense, it burns him, branding fear into his very soul.   
  


And it’s getting closer. Quietly, it stalks, slow, confident steps only loud because the space around them is so _s_ _ilent_. As he feels, what he imagines to be, the body heat of the imposter ebb its way into his space, he makes a last-ditched glance to freedom. Heavy doors block his escape to the cafeteria. He’s fucked.   
  


Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s right behind him. He can definitely hear it now, terrible staticky breaths excitedly hitching as someone, _something_ stands behind him, presence dizzying and all-consuming. He feels the hands raise before he sees them, dark like everything around him. Not dark enough to hide the fresh blood glistening off their palms.   
  
“ _Green..._ ” it calls, teasing its voice into a tune.   
  
And he’s shaking, can’t hold himself still as he watches those hands come closer, closer to his face. They’re so real, the blood so dark and the suit's palms cracked and worn from use. He expects to feel the warm, sticky slide of those fingers on his face, expects the rough brush of soft-leather too. He jolts when they softly smack against his visor, purposely pressing hard enough that Green picks up the _skiiiid_ of it down the glass.

And those hands keep moving down, threatening his life when they pass his neck, over his heart. They don’t touch him directly, heat most-definitely NOT human ghosting his skin. He hates that it’s warm, how easy it breathes. Like it’s lulling him to sleep. It moves its hands up and down his arms and front, a weird growl seemingly being purred into his ear. Like it's assessing him. Comforting and appraising him, a small, scared thing from out of the corner. And it’s working.

The longer he stands in the dark, focusing only on the heat behind him, almost encompassing him, the easier it gets to breathe. He’s still fucking terrified, mind you. More that he’d been braced for death, a cold and quick one at that, and yet this is the closest he’s been to another being in _so long_...it’s actually starting to feel nice.

“Yes...” he hears it purr, “Relax, little one...”

And those hands keep petting. Soothing. Placating until he feels the thing behind him shift, like it’s contorting as bones snap, a mouth stickily opening and a long, dark appendage slithering its way around him. It constricts him where it holds, hot like a steel rod. Only that there isn’t just one of it, but two, three, four and so many that Green loses count trying to keep track of them and more on his panicked breaths.   
  


His throat burns, eyes sting, and he can feel how each breath leaves him wheezing. Over his state, Green almost misses the dark chuckle from behind.   
  
The tendrils continue to wind around him. At a point, the thicker ones come to a slow stop, squeezing as if to test just how fragile Green’s ribs really are, shaking in another chuckle at the pained wheeze Green lets slip. The others don’t stop their path, some loosely wrapping down his biceps, digging into his forearms. It’s the ones sliding down his legs that scare him the most. When they coil around his thigh, squeeze him with a satisfied grumble, Green’s shaking continues anew as realization sets in.

”No...please,” he weakly protests. He can’t stop shaking, can’t hold back the tears that threaten his sight as the tendrils squeeze again. This time, they hold him longer, tighter. _Quiet_ they seem warn before unwinding, moving to lazily sway over him in soft caresses.   
  
Green listens, clamping his mouth shut against his soft, scared whimpers. The monster behind him purrs again, tendril coming up to stroke down from the top of his helmet, loosely curling itself around his neck. Pleased with his obedience. He shudders.

The tendrils are an even pressure as they push against him. Even as he shakes, they hold him steady. And when Green feels the _t_ _hing_ slowly stroke over his stomach, he's almost grateful it's there to hold him up, knees weakening. It fondles with the zipper, each touch making his heart lurch like a fish on a line. Flopping, fighting. He should be fighting. But he's just too _damn afraid_.

The tension strings him tight, and like a crack of thunder, the zipper is tugged down. Excitedly, the tendrils unfurl, hotly gliding against his skin and settling over him again. Green can feel them settle over his pulse, tight muscle squeezing his wrist, his thighs, just to feel him squirm. 

And he squirms. Wiggles and pushes against the imposter as the tendril around his waist slithers under his dark shirt. It leaves a wet path where it touches, and Green can feel the stickiness when it lifts up to glide over his chest. He hates how it holds him, how it constricts him as he hyperventilates. He's too fucking aware, can't seem to separate mind from reality. He doesn't want it. He _doesn't want this_.

But then it slides over his nipples, rubbing the soft nubs and setting tiny shocks of lightning throughout his chest, down into his gut, his feet. It makes his toes twitch and an embarrassingly loud gasp wrack his body. In response, the...thing purrs again. It squeezes his neck, tightens over his stomach. Each languid brush over his chest makes him twitch, and eventually a pressure starts to build in his head as he feels blood rushing to his face. He tries squirming anew, and it only makes the creature squeeze, tension threatening to snap his wrist and split him in two. He shoots up straight with a loud, painful gasp. Except it cuts off the gasp halfway, and then he's fucking choking.

He struggles, even though he knows it's only making it worse. He just can't seem to reign his panic under control. His muscles strain against the strength binding them. His eyes sting, tears flowing as each attempt at breath is denied, each cough building a painful lump in his throat. Consciousness drifting away, Green feels the way his limbs go slack. His vision's darkening at the ends, and he feels himself start to sway. Just before he slips into unconsciousness, the pressure around his neck lifts, just enough to make coughing hurt and the air he sucks in constricted and dry.

He's drooling, thick, warm saliva pooling in his mouth as he swallows again and again. The tendril caresses his Adam's apple with each bob. It squeezes again for just a split second, but already Green feels himself going slack. A natural response. He had to survive. And in order to survive, he had to obey. Submit. This monster's only teasing him, playing with its food before it devours it. Maybe if he didn't fight, things would go so much easier...

Letting himself fall against the imposter's grip, Green feels himself go lax. His life is at this being's mercy. 

His suit is shed with ease, albeit somewhat clunky given the imposter behind him didn't exactly wear one himself; how would it know the things he and the others know, if not through careful observation? He's in a dark shirt and briefs, cool air biting goosebumps into his flesh. For a bit, the creature simply holds him, steady rumble vibrating against him as it strokes his exposed skin. Its pace is easy, like someone couldn't just bust in any moment now. And so what if they did? Green'd be plastered all over the walls and floors before he'd know what could happen.   
  


And then it’s touching his cock. Firm, yet exploratory, Green jolts at each stroke. The tendrils across his chest move back to his nipples, and they touch the nubs in tandem with the one below. Even though he was cold before, a heated coil slowly winds itself in his loins. 

“Mm...” Green rasps, closing his eyes and welcoming the pleasure, relieved at how it eases the burn of his abused body.

The imposter makes another sound, this one pleased. The tendril touching him slides into his briefs, curling over his cock , so warm and so _t_ _ight_. It’s slick, feels fucking _amazing_ when Green jolts into the grasp, does it again because he hasn’t felt anything like this since before they launched. He keeps rutting into the grip, only one thought in his mind: he wasn’t gonna make it.

He wasn’t gonna make it, and the imposter knew. Almost like it _wanted_ to get him off, but maybe that’s the endorphins speaking. In the back of his mind, he still hasn’t forgotten the razor sharp teeth dripping bloody drops on the floor. It’s the fear that spurs him on—would he ever get to experience something like this again? Would the creature let him finish?

God, he hoped so. There was something gratifying being held up like this—held _back_ and only able to take what he was given. Green was always used to never having control, isolated himself to get as much in his life as he could with the reaper constantly hanging over his shoulder. Only this time, it felt _good_ giving up.   
  


He comes with a startled moan, hips rutting as best he could into the coiled tendril, it tugging at his cock until his come is absorbed? Eaten? Whatever it is, it’s gone. He feels himself go lax again, this time more natural as he relaxes in a comfortable silence. A calm before the storm.

And the storm comes as his briefs are suddenly _ripped_ off. A slick length worms its way to his ass, gliding a cool trail to his hole so quick, Green’s barely given the chance to _try_ relaxing before it’s pushing into him.

And it fucking _hurts_. It burns, even with whatever slick makes it so easy for the _thing_ to spear him open. The tendrils around his wrist are tight as he struggles against them, head tossing back and forth as the muscle moves deeper, and _deeper_ , until it brushes something that makes him jump, nerves alight and cock twitching again.   
  


A few moments pass. Low, rumbling growls reverberating in his ears as the imposter flexes where they touch. Testing to see just how far he could break, bend, _stretch_. When it moves again, it’s slow and studios, painful still but not as awful as the first intrusion. Each little thrust, Green feels it shift and curl, shaping its way for _what,_ he doesn’t know.   
  


It’s when he feels the length push against his prostate again that he realizes. He's panting softly and afraid, yet another weakness of his laid before the creature again. It presses against the spot, unrelenting as it sends a long stream of hot pleasure through him, straight to his dick.

”Mm, fuck...” he moans. His head spins, rationale numbing, sinking under each wave of pleasure the imposter’s attention brings. 

It hurts. Pleasure too intense. His spent cock twitches in a borderline painful pulse, precum glistening at his tip. He’s fully hard again and it’s _too much_ when the creature wraps his cock again.

He knows not to fight, but he just can’t help how his hands close into fists, tugging again as his body tries to arch away from the touch.

The imposter purrs in excitement, tightening its hold and forcibly tugging him back. It impales itself further into him, tightening the tendril around his neck as it starts to push in, out, in, out. Faster. Harder. Fucks filthy noises from the crewmate in its hold. Squelches, moans, panting gasps.

Green’s head is a dizzy mess. He just can’t get enough oxygen to his brain. Can’t move. All he can do is feel, take the massive length making him ache and shake. A particularly rough thrust makes him clench in a loud moan. He’s getting close again.

As the imposter picks up its pace, Green notices just how much _fuller_ he feels. The feeling only grows the longer he’s used, pressure so great he can’t help writhing again. Only this time it seems to excite the creature even more, tendrils tightening and vibrating purrs and chirping clicks filling the air. A tendril shifts to pinch some spot on his neck, another angling his back into a painful arch and he’s stuck. Literally frozen on the spot. And the _thing_ fucking him only gets bigger. His prostate’s numb from the abuse, his asshole wet with blood and the monster’s slick. He tries to force himself to relax, some deep rooted primal instinct clawing inside his head, preparing him for _something_ as he feels everything _tighten_ and he can’t breathe and the imposter’s so _loud--_  
  


And then he’s being bred. Honest to god, Green’s seeing black spots and drooling as a hot, sticky rush of _something’s_ pumped into him. Weakly, he moans, uncomfortable with the mounting pressure, almost painful. It peaks as the imposter slowly pumps his beading cock, forcing him to arch and clench as another wave of pleasure hits him when he comes. 

When he feels himself come back down, his back is warm as the imposter fits itself against him, tendrils relaxing and stroking over him as it purrs contentedly. Moments pass, Green’s thoughts too fucked to really keep track. The only thing he can notice is how he feels the creature’s length grow and shift with each load fed into him. Absentmindedly, the thing licks his face, neck, rubbing over his bulging stomach. It’s warm and sticky and _t_ _oo much_.

And it’s the last thing he remembers before passing out.

—


End file.
